Year Zero
by thesporkmaster
Summary: Everyone knows the story of batman, but in the DCAU his exact training and beginnings were never revealed. This story documents these events in two-part chapters!
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_T__he remnants of what once was the innocent eight-year old boy, Bruce Wayne, had changed as soon as his parents were gunned down in front of his eyes at the once peaceful alleyway, now dubbed Crime Alley, having had its' true origins and name erased far from anyone's memory. In this very same instance, the world began to rot. The two most honest, richest, and influential citizens of Gotham City just happened to be this boy's parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne._

_Without them, Gotham City, one of the most influential and richest cities in the world, became overcome with despair, hatred, and evil, over time. The untouchable were touched, the only hope was destroyed, and the only two who led the movement of modern-day philanthropy and kept the world from corruption and poverty were savagely murdered, by one of the few untouched by their heroics. What was contained by Gotham City began to spread around the world, after this tragic event. The death of two began a deadly chain reaction. ...And from there, the world became in need of heroes. Some began to rise to the challenge, as seeds began to be placed to start revolution, yet others became corrupt. The police force and military were not enough, and their ruination thus began..._

_In response to this need, however, the death sparked something else, something that could meet the worlds' demands, and thusly, Bruce Wayne was plunged into a pit of black vengeance… and a solution began to develop itself within the center of the problem. He was forced to see the harshness of life, long before any soul should and soon set out to discover the truth of it all, both with, and without, his faithful servant, Alfred. _

_Meanwhile Gotham's police force was not what it once was. The mystery of the Wayne killings was never uncovered. They were left unavenged and left the police of the city to feel responsible. No matter how many years of search and dedication they brought through for it, the case was, unofficially, brought to a close, a cold case that was unlikely to become warm, or attempt to be warm, again. The police soon became corrupt and only a handful truly honest. A promising rookie, out-of shape officer in training, and poor Hispanic girl were the three who became destined to change that. _

_And all that was left of the night was an evil __**CHILL**__which threatened the world…_


	2. Afterwords

CHAPTER ONE: AFTERWORDS

**Chapter One: AFTERWORDS**

I.

**The Training of Bruce Wayne: **

_Two weeks After the Wayne killings_

"It is time to go Master Bruce!" The words that were shouted out on the top of Alfred Pennyworths' lungs meant absolutely nothing to Bruce, if he could even here them over the thunder roaring loudly over their heads. The young man, once a boy, only weeks ago, was paying his final tributes to his parents at their grave for an extended period of time before Alfred and Bruce temporarily departed from their unwelcoming home of Gotham City, with the purpose of "freshening Bruce up at the countryside", as Alfred had put it, just the night before.

After a few more shouts and screams with similar text on the butler's part, Bruce finally acknowledged his loyal friend's words. "Huh? Oh! I'm coming Alfred. I'll be there in just a minute!" Bruce managed to scream back to Alfred in a semi-hearable tone through the cloudy haze of pouring rain, mountainous thunder, and bursting, bright lightning which drenched him in his own permanent state of misery all over again, yet failing to match that of the night in the alleyway, just a week ago that day. Ironic, Bruce thought, that as my parent's funeral ended, a bad storm began, and my first time of quiet with them, _after_ the true storm was miserable, more so than I would have imagined. Yet, despite everything, he finally choked up the words to speak to them. It took courage, surprisingly, something he knew was necessary for him, no matter what the future brought.

"Mom – Dad – I love you." It became unclear whether or not that it was _only_ rain dripping down from his face, from a mere glance at Bruce, except for, possibly, in the view of Alfred. He miserably walked over to Alfred, occasionally getting stuck in the cemetery mud and was then taken by the hand and lightly tugged to under the butlers dully-colored umbrella as he opened the equally dull, black, slender limo that Bruce had, technically, inherited from his parents. The tall, dark-haired butler rushed him into it and before speeding off to the duos destination, gave Bruce a few somewhat useless words of advice to him.

"Come Bruce, it shall fit you best to get out of Gotham for awhile" Bruce sat down in the comfortable seat and remained silent, in thought about the long trip ahead of him but more intensely about the past, something he didn't think he was capable of leaving behind him.

Alfred, however, had his mind glued onward, and tried to move beyond what could possibly be the greatest tragedy of his adult life, something he was only able to do because of the many funerals he had felt obligated to attend for those friends of his who had given their lives in service to their country. The two were originally set to go to the countryside for some odd two months, Alfred recalled, but Bruce's aunt had wanted to see the boy as soon as possible after she heard of her siblings death, as she referred to both as. Alfred made arrangements with her for Bruce and himself to visit her at her home for awhile in Metropolis, Kansas. Alfred then remembered how the boy talked him out of going to the countryside and just keeping it to visiting at his aunt's house, which Alfred most likely would have decided on anyway, so Bruce could then think things over in Gotham. He also didn't want to keep him away from his parents' graves for a long period of time, considering how recently they had died.

Meanwhile, as they exited the suburban areas for Gotham City, the once gloomy sky finally began to clear up, despite how slim those chances seemed all of ten minutes ago, then bringing the storm to an abrupt end. On that day Alfred drove Bruce onward to their destination until about 8:00 at night with a 1:00 lunch break in between. This overall pattern, for over a week, continued, with the pair checking out of a hotel somewhere between the six and 8 A.M. timeframe then them having a late, but somewhat fancy, dinner and desert. Alfred had offered Bruce lunch or dinner at a chain restaurant drive-thru like McDonalds' on the first day, but Bruce seemed to think himself beyond that, despite his age of eight, so Alfred decided it a waste of time and breath to pursue such ideas further. The two of them barely conversed in the car, although Alfred would try to begin conversation at the hotel and sometimes limousine, but usually failed. Even when he did mange to succeed it was short and usually didn't seem useful to either one. The trip was, for the most part, dull, but Bruce ultimately thought it not to matter.

Over time, Bruce had decided that the trip wasn't really as bad as he thought, considering his life would probably be the same at his house, but without the numerous places that Bruce briefly visited, and the so-called "countryside air" that Bruce wanted to give to him. All the hotels that they checked into were 4 and 5 starred, but no matter how perfect one might think such a trip would be, it just wasn't the comforts of home, not that anything would ever be that again, after his parent's death. At nearly every hotel they went to, Bruce had wanted to go swimming every night, for reasons that he didn't even know, so, nearly every night, Alfred took him to the hotels' pool, for although the butler was against spoiling the boy, he felt something like this was important to allow Bruce to do.

On one of these particular nights in which Alfred took him swimming, the day that was set to be the last one before they arrived at their destination in Metropolis Bruce jumped into the lonely, empty, pool, which was a first for him. The other days he had waded in before he started lapping. This day, however, he quickly swam over to the shallow side of the Olympic-sized, outdoors, in-ground, pool. The pool went 15 feet deep on the other end, over three times his height, and spanned the size of around two hotel pools.

Despite that Alfred warned him about the deep side while walking to the monstrous pool, Bruce found himself with the urge to reach the other side of the pool, underwater. So, unexpectedly, to Alfred, he dunked his whole body underwater and started swimming towards the other end. Alfred decided he would be fine, and reluctantly, tried not to worry about him. Meanwhile Bruce found himself in the deep area very quickly, surprising himself at his skills with the sport. He continuously descended to the bottom of the pool and rapidly made the decision to open his two eyes to realize that, not only did chlorine not bother him, but even though he was almost at his goal, he wasn't running out of breath. As he hit the pool wall, he dived farther downwards, and cradled himself at the bottom of the pool.

Alfred found himself scared for the boy's life with the realization that he had been under there for around a minute. Alfred suddenly springed from the chair he was lounging in and speedily, as he was taught in the British military services, removed his shoes and shirt while simultaneously launching himself towards the pool, while, almost immediately, Bruce's head sprung up for air, while breathing heavily, although he did not seem particularly overexerted, something more than incredible for his age.

"Master Bruce, are you alright?" Alfred puffed, almost in a daze, after practically stopping himself in midair from jumping in the pool.

"What – Oh yes, yep, uh- yeah I'm alright Alfred." He replied to his faithful butler. Although not entirely convinced, he let it pass, and had Bruce return to the hotel room, knowing neither one would probably doubt his swimming abilities again.

The following day, the final of Bruce and Alfred's journey, the pair were, predictably, caught in the daily maelstroms' of traffic of Metropolis, ones much worse than those sometimes in Gotham City, in which cars upon cars formed a seemingly infinite line which reminds nearly all whose cars were in it why they should have opted to take a plane instead. Alfred after being bored for a an hour or so of waiting, began to tell Bruce of his last visit there, more to keep both of their sanities from finishing their drift away from themselves, than to actually recall and bestow knowledge upon Bruce.

"Master Bruce, as I recall it myself, it wasn't all that long ago since I've been to this city. "He decided to begin his story like. "It's a nice place, especially considering that it's a city, just lie Gotham. In fact, speaking of Gotham, it was an awful lot like it _once was_." He then paused seeing as that he couldn't tell if Bruce was even listening, up until when the boy spoke, at least.

"Yeah, that's great Alfred. Wonderful." His mumbling showed that Bruce was in a somewhat disgruntled state. He knew that Alfred was just trying to start conversation with him and try to be friendly, as was usual with him, but he really wasn't in the mood for much of anything besides thinking to himself of a bleak future ahead. As a result, he felt like yelling at Alfred and could barely resist getting rid of his anger, frustration, and near-depression, but his will kicked in, preventing him from doing so. Alfred realized his mood and decided it best for Bruce's to be the last words among the two, for the moment.

"We're here, Master Bruce!" Alfred suddenly and cheerfully announced just minutes after he last spoke to Bruce, as he drove down the bustling street where Bruce's aunt lived, just shortly getting out of the monstrous, even to the city's standards, traffic jam. His enthusiasm was quickly toned down and flushed out of his system as soon as he saw a flashing police car parked outside the small and beautifully decorated, city house, with a police officer outside, without the kindly, old widow to greet them. Alfred pulled over to the side of the packed street, and then stopped the vehicle, while, at the same time, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door, with the speedy actions he only possessed during urgent times and emergencies, such as the one that presented itself at the moment.

"Bruce, stay here, don't go _**any**_where!" A panicked Alfred Pennyworth shouted to his master and friend as he hurried himself out of the car to the building to find out was going on. Alfred was at the police car door almost immediately after he had rushed out of the limo he was driving. "What are you doing here sir?" Questioned Alfred to the officer, while trying to keep himself under control.

"I was about to ask you the very same question _sir,_ or should I say ma'am, from the looks o' that face ya got there? Said the officer in a cruelly sarcastic and villainously unfriendly tone.

The rude, jerk of a cop had a sneer spreading all across his mouth making it visible to Alfred, whether that was what he intended or not. Either way, Alfred was disgusted at the officer and was about to make that obvious, as well, with the definite intention of doing so this time.

"Why you snot-nosed-, Why, if Turpin were still in this police force he'd have your head for this!" Alfred practically screamed at the officer, noticing that his hand was curled up into a tight, menacing fist, whether he had the intention to fight, or not. At this point he had lost his temper just about more than he ever had in his life, and with good reason, too.

"Aahh…I can see that you're just as sharp as ever, hmmm, Pennyworth?" Alfred's first instinct was to wince at the mention of the nickname he expected not to here again. He turned around to see Dan Turpin Jr., a face he thought he was never to see again.

"Oh, Dan, it's you." Alfred overcame his surprise to engage in "small talk", as it was called in his homeland. "So, how has life been going over in Metropolis lately?"

"It's goin' pretty good. I've been having some trouble with corruption and an overload of crime lately, but I'm holding on, just like you, Frederick, and I, did back in the day. Speaking of good, old Frederick, how has he been doing lately? In fact, have you even been speaking to him lately?"

"No, I am afraid I haven't heard from him in years, so I couldn't say, although I did check up on him from some sources I got a hold of, and he is doing quite fine."

"Oh, that's too bad. Oh, well, I wouldn't get too worried about him, he can handle himself. It's good though that you know he's doing well. Life has to be good living with the Wayne's, well…well up until…you know" Dan's once cheerful tone quickly died down. "Anyway," Dan continued, changing the subject to what he was originally going to question Alfred about. "What argument were you having with my officer over there?"

"Well, he was just being something of a brat. Typical stuff of these days and ages, I suppose."

"Really, that's too bad, that turns out not to be the first thing he's done to prove himself another in this new wave of loser dirty cops that seem to have been coming through lately. It's a shame, really, I should've brought in Gordon, but he'd probably just be another cop filled with promise, turning out to be a disappointment." While on the subject, Turpin's mind flashed back what he had to say, before he ran into his old pal. "Hey Guilles," he shouted over to the supposedly dirty cop "I want you out of this case, and I want you out immediately!" Guilles then replied back to Turpin's shout, and not with a pleasant response either.

"What, Turpin, just because you're da big bad commissioner o' me doesn't mean ya have to spoils me fun, all o' theh time."

"Fun!? My , you sick monster! I told you I didn't want you working on these murder cases anymore!"

Alfred's jaws suddenly dropped. All the color was flushed out of his face, making him seem almost vampiric, by nature. His hands began to tremble, and his entire body appeared to have been paralyzed, and perhaps it was. It wasn't until he began to speak, with a distinct tremble in his voice, Turpin was reassured that he wasn't. "You-just-I… Did you just say Murder!?"

Alfred slowly and mournfully strode over to the limo Bruce was impatiently waiting in, accompanied by a graying cop, wearing a blue overcoat, and appearing to be of high status. Bruce could tell that something was very wrong just by the solemn faces worn by Alfred and the cop. He watched as Alfred opened the car door for the cop and himself.

"Hello Bruce, I am Police Commissioner Dan Turpin Sr. of Metropolis. I used to be friends with Pennny-er, I mean Alfred" well at least he knew the cops name now, thought Bruce. He gave his hand out for Bruce to shake it, which he did, only out of respect for Alfred and his badge, for he wasn't in the mood for such greetings. "I'm sorry, especially with your parents and all but, well…uh" He obviously dreaded what he had to say to Bruce and almost seemed incapable of doing it. The bomb was coming. "It's your aunt Bruce… she's dead." Bruce quickly froze as the only remaining happiness within him was crushed and created into more tears, tragedies, and destruction. He didn't know her all that well and only met her once, but she seeemed nice from when he did know her, and how she always sent him presents through the mil for Christmas and his birthday, and to ask to stay with Bruce for awhile, as well…? It wasn't until a tear dripped down his face that anyone spoke, and even then, it was brief.

"Turpin, I think I better take it from here." Alfred told him. Turpin left, as asked, knowing his old friend was right, then briefly wondered if he was ever to see him again. Meanwhile, the two remaining in the picture hugged for what seemed to be hours.

Later that night, at the hotel room they were staying at until his aunt's funeral, Bruce amended the very promise he made upon his parents grave. The one that, in his eyes, was unconditional, and was all he felt he had left. "I _**will**_ have vengeance, not only from criminals of Gotham, and the man who killed my parents but the criminals of the world… not only for my parents, but for the world…For my aunt!"

**II.**

Birth of a Hero

Shortly After Andrea Beaumont Leaves Bruce

Bruce Wayne quietly sat near his fireplace in his comfortable, cushioned, lounging chair in Wayne Manor in yet another of his father's mostly empty rooms, coined "the thinking place" by his butler. At the point in time when he decided to place many of these empty rooms "under construction", to be remade for a more useful purpose, he felt strongly to disclude this particular room from his plans, supported by two key elements which it contained that Bruce felt vital to his current life.

The 1st of these elements, as Alfred had once referred to them as, was the comfortable armchair he was currently sitting in, which he often thought and schemed in, sometimes with the ideas stored in his head, and others with a pad and pencil. More importantly, it contained a portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne, the two so dear to him which were taken away from him at such a young age, framed in ungilded, pure, gold, right above the fireplace which was burning a bright flare, disguised as the hope Bruce did not have.

Last year, back when Bruce returned from his training, last in Russia, he felt himself inspired while thinking in the room, probably from the picture of his slaughtered parents, which also gave him some dark version of what might be considered hope to most people. Bruce, however, was most definitely not "most people".

Today, however, Bruce would not allow himself the luxury of getting cozy and comfortable in the chair. His former fiancée, Andrea Beaumont, had left him, with no clear explanation of doing so, other than an apology; the ring he had given to her returned, and the only true glimpse of leading what would be considered a life, even for one of his high class and persona, shattered in a few mere instances. He didn't know what happened to her or even why she left him, but what he did know, is that he was wrong. Gotham still needed a defender, a symbol of darkness and vengeance, and most importantly, hope in order to fight the evil that dwelled in the city and the world, even now more than ever. Andrea's father, Carl Beaumont, was but an example of a constantly growing evil. Although not the source of it, he had been ensnared by a group of villains using his immense wealth for their greedy purposes; probably a reason behind Andrea leaving him with such cruel hastiness.

"_They Need Me. The People of Gotham Need Me!"_

The thoughts had already hit Bruce what seemed to be a millennia ago, but was only ten long years, but now, it seemed that they needed him now, more than ever before. His oath had never had such great a meaning to him as they did now. Everything had changed, even though it had once appeared that he had used all of that for one lifetime during that night in crime alley, and again, so many times over in the past 10 years. Now he knew of the truth that, as the man he was, and is, he can't do what he needed to do. He had just recently tried a simple ski mask to disguise himself to protect Alfred from anyone trying for revenge, or to keep the police from arresting him for taking the law in his own hands, for that matter, yet now he realized that a getup such as that would not work. It garbed him in the mask of what sometimes personifies the evil he was so determined to fight. As he considered these thoughts, and delved deeper into the edge of madness, quickly scribbling down random ideas generated without any thoughts to them, he was suddenly stabbed in the heart by a meaningful speech, randomly hitting him. 

"_Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot, so my disguise must be able to strike terror into their hearts. I must be a creature of the night, black, terrible…a…a"_

Bruce suddenly paused his private monologue, as he felt an odd chill enter the uneasily quiet room. Out of nowhere, a black, terrible, and horrifying, winged monstrosity crashed through the old-fashioned windows, activating the end of his string of words, as he faced that which he thought of before, that which could scare and startle even him, as he fell from his chair, facing the creature.

_"A Bat! That's it! It's an omen! I shall become __**A BAT**__!"_

Alfred sprinted unnaturally fast for someone of his age an condition with an iron will of protecting his master, directly into Bruce's "thinking room", as he had recently dubbed it, as soon as he heard what was most likely the fragile glass in its windows shatter, and Bruce's loudly utter a word he couldn't make out that had the same chill to it as it had when he made his vow to do his parents justice at their grave. The kitchen sink he was washing dishes in was quite a long way from the room, leaving Alfred to wonder what had happened to his master on his way their, as he dutifully rushed to his masters age, utilizing speed he used only before during his time in the secret service, and also to Bruce's aid when his parents died. He sped as fast as someone of his age forseeably could, and possibly faster, fearing that he wouldn't make it in time, only slightly encouraged by what his master had previously went through.

"So these are the disadvantages of having a house this large" He cursed under his breath, hoping to distract himself. Normally he would've cracked a dry joke that he couldn't even figure out where he was going in the mansion, but never under the current conditions, although he didn't tend to worry too much. He opened the door with haste, only to discover a scenario quite different from what he expected.

Bruce slowly stood up on his two legs, then into a firm position which would make one believe that everything was perfectly fine by the stance, but was quite obviously not. Bruce

Wayne was scratched, bruised, and lightly bleeding from what appeared to be from gliding across the floor, with fallen glass scraping him all throughout his slide.

So when Alfred walked into the room, Bruce didn't find his butler's surprise all that shocking, nor that any glimpses of worry from his eyes had disappeared. A dead monstrosity of a bat lay next to Bruce's chair, as the man continued to stand up, yet to stagger. Alfred decided it was then that was the time to speak, striking up a conversation between the two, not even trying to make himself look scared, since he knew his master to be alright.

"Ahhh, I see that something hit you in the face, Master Bruce." Alfred expected him to stay with the conversations tone, as he normally did in such situations, but managed to surprise

Alfred once more.

"It's more than what you thought, Alfred." Bruce took on a cold, raspy, and eerily familiar voice.

"Yes, well that _is_ a rather big bat to be dwelling around this area, is it not?"

"Alfred, there's no way to know for certain without taking blood work on it, but I believe it would commonly be referred to as Vampire Bats." Bruce, once again, cut directly to the conversation's heart.

"What!? I thought those were only found in Brazil." Third time in the last five minutes, Alfred realized

"They are" He said the simple response again.

"That's not likely though, is it?"

"No Alfred, it's not possible." A small glimpse of Bruce's normal voice returned then diminished in this sentence, unless he _was_ using his now normal voice.

" Hmmm…Then why are they here." Alfred began to go to the point quickly as well.

Bruce said but one, unexpected word that he did not believe in before staggering, then collapsing, in Alfred's arms.

"Destiny!"

_Fourth Time._

Bruce woke up in a sudden, and confused state, as he leaped up, sitting up on his bed finally awake from his deep slumber.

"Where Am I?" he thought aloud, making it out to be a shout, although he knew the answer, before realizing he was wrong, and was instead in Alfred, his butler's, bed. Soon enough after, he began to recall the events leading to his unconsciousness.

He lurched onto his feet, deciding that it would be best to fin Alfred and tell him that he had awoken. Coincidentally enough, or perhaps from Bruce's yell, Alfred strode into the room as Bruce got ready to walk out of it.

"Master Bruce!?" Alfred exclaimed as he checked up on his master

"Alfred," Bruce pondered, "How long was I out for?"

"Well, I'm afraid half a day sir. I decided not to bring you to the hospital, although I'm sure I will get too used to fantasizing excuses up for any future _adventures_ of yours."

"Good. Alfred, what about WayneCorp, I know I only have ten days until I assume my position as head of WayneCorp?"

"I managed to push it off another eleven days, claiming that you wanted for you to assume the position the day that your father _lost_ command of the company, your birthday, and the day that, well, your parents passed away. I'm hoping that this is what you wanted."

"Yes! Thanks Alfred!" With that polite and quick exclamation, he speedily ran out of the room to get to work.

"Wait, Master Bruce!" Alfred stopped Bruce in his tracks, although he knew the answer anyway.

"Yes, Alfred, what is it?"

"Where, exactly, are you going off to now?"

"The "thinking room" again. You know when I told you that the bat in it was destiny? It gave me a guise"

Alfred didn't entirely understand his master, or what he was planning, but let him be anyhow. "Very good, Master Bruce. I cleaned the room in prediction that you might want to do that." Bruce left with only a brief thanks and goodbye, leaving Alfred to go back to the dishes he had begun before the mess started twelve hours ago.

Captain James W. Gordon stepped off the plane which flew him to his new job and into the Gotham City scenery. Just from the airport, he could sense the dark and evil nature which the city possessed. Smoke filled air from weed and cocaine and the stench of total corruption showed a deadly evil lying within. He had been recommended to Commissioner Loeb by his old commissioner, Corminer, over in Chicago, who apparently knew the man from their youth.

"I just hope I can raise Barb well in this city" he muttered under his breath, which was all which mattered to him at that moment. Sure Chicago wasn't a completely clean city, and had its corrupt cops, and gang families, but it had a much safer aura to it, as opposed to his home city. He found himself telling his self over and over again later on, that everything would be okay, for him, his wife, and Babs, in his office but it didn't provide any comfort. He started active duty in a week, and had to pick up his daughter and wife in three days from the airport, because they needed a little more time for packing then he did.

He was also thinking about how tough his job would be in a city like this as lieutenant of the police force, which was an honor for him to be straight after his transfer. He didn't know much of this city, other than his instincts, and the files he had read on it, which most certainly couldn't be trusted well. One thing he did know for certain of the city, however, was that Gotham had been a target of pure evil ever since the world infamous Wayne Murders, a stain of blood still far away from being solved.

"_And I can change that."_ The odd thought had occurred to him just that moment, striking him quite unusually, and popping rather randomly into his mind, but yet it was there, nonetheless. Soon the thought had diminished. Gordon knew it was foolish, and cursed himself for thinking it, even for that one, brief, moment. He knew it was, quite, simply, impossible, he thought.

_**He Thought Wrong!**_


	3. Quests

Chapter Two: Quests

**Chapter Two: Quests**

**I.**

The Training of Bruce Wayne

Bruce Wayne's Twelfth Birthday

"It's my 13th birthday today, isn't it?" Bruce uttered the words in complete awe of his age. It had already been four whole years since that fateful day in the dirty, despicable, place already known city wide as Crime Alley… the one that had changed his life forever, more so than ANY could imagine… And yet he still found himself not a step closer to achieving his overall goal, and fulfilling his pledge to both his parents and aunt. He still wanted to revenge his parent's death and protect others from the same fate, or his much worse destiny, at that. It didn't help him, or anyone else for that matter that his progress was minimal, if that was even what you could call it at that point.

He certainly had exercised quite fiercely every day, as Alfred could certainly attest to, and he was largely above the average physical abilities of one his age. He could now swim underwater for well over a minute and a half and could do 50 perfect push-ups, and more than 500 sit-ups, straight through, after running a mile in just under six minutes. He had been well tutored ever since his parent's death, and had managed to keep a balanced schedule set out for himself, although he had little time for fun or friends, despite Alfred's rather loud protests that he should make a few.

Of course, he knew that keeping his life the way it was would prove to be a much harder task once he turned 18, seeing that it would give him rightful ownership of his father's company, WayneCorp. Until then, however, Alfred owned Wayne Manor, and one of his father's most trusted friends, and corporate buddy and accountant at WayneCorp, Lucius Fox, owned the corporation. It didn't take long to learn why Thomas Wayne had befriended Lucius in the first place. Through all that had happened to Bruce in the past five years, many had pretended to care for Bruce, although the charades and falsities of their ploys to get into his money were quite clear to him. However, Lucius and Alfred seemed to be the only ones to provide comfort for him in his times of need, with the exception of Doctor Leslie Thompkins, a friend of his father's from high school, who tried her best, but rarely comforted him.

This was precisely why that they were the only three invited, and all coming, to Bruce's birthday party, although Alfred once suggested a larger crowd. For example he once thought he should invite some others, perhaps the son of a rich businessman who worked with his father before, such as Victor Zsasz. Bruce had once met Victor before, but he was nothing but a big, blond, bully. His future of evil was clear in Bruce's eyes, and for all he knew, he could be someone like the man who killed his parents', except for, this time, slaying every night, although it was a bit of an over exaggerated and silly thought. It wasn't that there was no evil capable of that, but none without a purpose, something Victor could never conceivably have, he was just another spoiled brat.

"Master Bruce! Master Bruce!" Alfred called out to him. Knowing it was his big birthday celebration for thirteen that Alfred was calling him over about, he ran over to the other room, wondering purely about his future, while on the way.

At the age of 35, Rupert Thorne was generally thought of as a hopeless man. Starting his criminal activities at the young age of thirteen, he was a druggie, stealer, and once, a murderer. Encouraged by a hopeless background as a street hobo, whose parents had been murdered long ago, he had no morals to go by. After living his life out on the streets alone, after his parent's death when he was eight, he befriended fellow street orphans, who joined a street gang, the Demonz, while at the approximate age of twelve or thirteen. He never had a future, and it surprised none he was caught, and only as a way of one of his so called friends to gain control of the street gang, who, under his leadership, evolved to more than a local threat. Yet he was arrested, and left behind on his birthday, at the age 21. He was but a nameless evil when he was sent to prison, at Blackgate Penitentiary of New Jersey, a fortress which only held the most cunning and wanted of villains.

So, after his 14 year imprisonment, cut short from the original 20 through eventual good behavior, he was thought as a man whose life was wasted on nothing but accidentally helping to create a monstrous empire of death and destruction. He however, never lost hope within himself. He saw a new kind of cruel world in his prison cells, one which he was to never forget…At least as the John Doe he was. All he did within his prison cells was think. He planned many steps in all directions ahead of any opponents he may have.

He managed to call in a favor or two from long ago. It proved just enough to get himself into a game of high stakes at a run-down casino, which was something he took utter advantage of. He came out as the victor, through a deadly combination of strategy, a good poker face, and tricky card-sharking. His expertise shown time and again at the table after this occasion, and it eventually landed him a job at the dump. He did have a plan though. An idea which would end in his utter success. He may not own the casino, but if all went according to his plan – which he knew it would, it would be soon enough. …And with that, he was well on the way to his success at age 38.

Lucius Fox, Leslie Thompkins, and Alfred Pennyworth sat down on one of many comfortable, three-man couches, placed all throughout Wayne Manor, this one being located in the lofty and large family room, as opposed to the equally fancy living room. After enjoying a hearty meal of chicken, and Alfred's signature mashed potatoes, among other of the butler's specialties, Bruce's favorite meal, the time had come for Alfred and the two guests to watch the boy opening their gifts to him. As Leslie and Lucius placed their gifts in a pile next to Bruce, which Alfred had already started beforehand, Bruce took the opportunity to be polite and say his thanks to the butler for the meal.

"Um…Thanks Alfred for the chicken, it was really good."

"You're very much welcomed, Master Bruce." Lucius and Leslie took the opportunity and began to do the same as Bruce had done. His thanks truly was sincere however, as was that of the others, both a bit more than decent people. Normally Alfred would make something for his birthday like Filet Mignon or Calamari, to test Bruce's tastes, but the chicken was much better. He was not one who enjoyed spending his wealth just because he had it, as the same was with Alfred, although the butler, up until recently, would get out of hand every once in a while.

Long before this day, he used to look forward to this day and party, but that had past, his last time being the night his parents died, when he was just eight years of age. Now it just reminded him of occasions like the time he got his Gray Ghost Helicopter for Christmas, one of his brightest memories of his parent's, something that now, while thinking about it, just make him weep at his parent's final stand in that alleyway over their once breathing bodies all over again. No matter what he felt inside though he always tried to look happy, although it was hard, at times, and usually wound up failing miserably.

Lucius' present was the first for Bruce to open. He tore the red and white wrapping paper to reveal a collectors' box of the Gray Ghost. It contained the complete run on the comic book series, which just ended yesterday. This marked the end of the series, given that the T.V. series ended a few years ago. He was excited at first, but watching, or even reading about, the Gray Ghost was rather hard on him, since he used to watch it with his father before he was eight. He would even get all dressed up in the suit and play it out with his dad, something which could never happen again.

Alfred got him a detective kit, which, unlike most available was not a kiddie thing with cheapie glasses, and things that don't work, designed for 3 year-olds, but marketed towards 10 year-olds. It was state-of the-art, and a genuine set, over-all. The most intriguing part of it, in Bruce's eyes was an invisible ink set, which focused on how to make and decode it. It also went on about other codes you could use.

"I'll look forward to using this Alfred! Thanks, it's pretty neat", Bruce told him, although years ago it would have been much more enthusiastically. This was most certainly not a lie, but solid truth instead, even despite his tone of voice. A kind look straight in the eye between the two confirmed this in Alfred's view, making him satisfied. Leslie gave him something entirely different. She would usually have given him money, but that was not something Bruce needed, but her caring attitude towards the boy knew the most appropriate gift towards him. It was a scrapbook of hers when she was friends with his parents in high school. It had a collection of pictures, notes, items, and other nostalgia given to Bruce for him to remember his parents by. It was something much more than money. It was priceless.

Yet as he looked down onto his three gifts, which he was happy with all of, he became unhappy. They reminded him of what needed to be done. Immediately…

James W. Gordon was a good cop, who had been in the service for five years now. Throughout these five years the police force of Chicago was led under the corrupt head of it's' commissioner. He allowed dirty money to filter through the city, and in his hands, and crime would go unseen by him, provided that it was easy enough to cover up, and enough money, or favors, were being paid off to him. Gordon however, along with a ragtag team of a lieutenant honest D.A. and judge, the man was caught accepting money from the Skeevers Crime Family of Chicago in order to cover up one of their major robberies ahead of time. Not only did it give the police force the break they needed to make the criminals outlaws, but also put their fiend of a leader behind bars, and out of his position, although the former only being for a short period of time.

Due to his ruination, the lieutenant who assisted in his capture was handed over his position. This commissioner was one who did not prejudice his decisions for promotion based upon how corrupt the cop was, allowed Gordon his first promotion, which would hopefully be of many, although he wasn't looking at commissioner until at least ten more years. He was continuing to hang on to his life despite the little hope it had in store for him. He got lucky once and was hoping it could happen again.

He knew he _had_ to carry on for his daughter's sake, if not purely for his own. Both "Babs", as his little girl liked to be called, and his wife, were both looking to him for support. It was hard to believe Barbara, his daughter, was already close to her third birthday. All of his hard work had started to pay off, and he was just hoping it wouldn't die off in the cruel world he lived in.

He had definitely deserved the promotion that he got, especially since he played a huge role in the downfall of the former commissioner, although it was probably something he deserved long ago. He thought that he had already faced one of the greatest challenges of both his career, and life. However, nothing could prepare him for the challenge that lie ahead, ten years later, and the trials that would happen to (barely, and unknowingly) ready himself…

"Master Bruce! Master Bruce, breakfast is ready! Master Bruce it isn't good for a vigilante to be sleeping in!" Alfred's third attempt at waking his master was more humorous than the others, but all three failed just as equally. Eventually growing tired of bellowing from the kitchen, practically waiting for the eggs to grow cold he decided to wake his master in the easiest way- from his room.

As he walked his way over to Bruce's room from the kitchen, he began to wonder why Bruce wasn't waking. He doubted that he was becoming a typical teenager, and sleeping in constantly, although it was possible. So what happened? He hadn't the slightest clue, but he supposed that he was about to find out.

Sure enough, he did, walking into the room, only to realize that his master wasn't in the neatly made bed. In fact, Bruce could never make his bed like that. He was hoping his suspicions were wrong, and he hadn't run away, but everything pointed towards it. He continuously searched every room of the large mansion, but with no avail to his purposes. He found himself greatly puzzled by the situation.

As he stopped in the living room to think his predicament over, he realized something on the table that was not present there the night before. There lied an envelope, with no indication of having gone through the mail. He flipped it over to the other side, from curiosity, to notice a bold and capitalized message on its' front.

FOR ALFRED PENNYWORTH'S EYES ONLY- B

It stood for Bruce, most likely, or possibly, something else. He quickly opened the envelope, then unfolded the paper that had its' contents, only to realize that, to his surprise, the paper was blank. Hmmm… that's odd, the butler thought. He found himself genuinely puzzle, more so than before. After inspecting the paper a bit more carefully, and cautiously, he noticed something strange about the paper. It had a sort of glint to it. Almost like…Almost like…like it had been smudged a bit- with some sort of liquid. That was it! It was damp! He then looked under the table, noticing the detective kit he game Bruce yesterday, in order to confirm his suspicions. He had already, years before, learned how to decode invisible ink, but checked the book anyway, finding that he still possessed the skill. After carefully decoding the paper, which Bruce had probably done mostly to test the book out, he read the message, which he later decided he really wasn't surprised about.

Dear Alfred,

I have been thinking lately. Thinking about the pledge I made at my parents grave five years ago, specifically, and how my situation really hadn't changed in the least since when I was eight. Sure I've trained. I've prepared to banish crime from Gotham ever since I was an eight year old, every day, yet somehow not enough. I need to make some actual progress, that which can not be made by any regular boy trying to be at his peak and now I've finally discovered how. I want to be trained but by whom exactly? When? Where? How? All these questions have plagued me greatly for quite some time now. I'm beginning my training by answering my questions. Myself, one week, in Gotham's darker parts, and through learning how to survive are the answers, to put them simply. Like someone without wealth. Someone preyed on by the evil I desire to fight. So, until the week has ended, don't bother trying to chase after me, or alerting the police or something. I took a bit of food and money. Please, don't worry. I'll miss you.

Love, Bruce

As Alfred finished the letter, he noticed that he had left his key in the envelope, just in case. Alfred glanced upon the letter one more time before grabbing a lighter from a shelf in the kitchen, and lighting the note into a burst of flames, and tossing it into the fireplace.

"Friends do not betray, servants always obey, and fathers' shall trust their sons."

Chapter 5 will deal greatly with Bruce's return to his mansion from his street mission in

Gotham.

Victor Zsasz will be dealt with as a villain later on in the story, or in another story.

The actual comic will include a more in depth account of Gordon helping to take the commissioner down.

II.

The Birth of A Hero

One Week After the Events of Chapter Two

**B**ruce was falling. No. No he wasn't. Batman was falling. He knew the truth now, during his parachute towards the ground more than he had ever before. He hadn't been alive ever since he was eight. It wasn't really because it was fun or anything, although it would be considered that by the standards of most, but more that it was what he was supposed to be doing. It _was_ him.

Suddenly remembering what he was doing, he pulled a micro sized, unfolding, grappling hook from his utility belt, quickly setting it up, and pressing the hook, sending the cable line, with tackle, onto the edge of the nearest buildings rooftop. The hook was designed to reach over 100 yards, and thusly, served its' purpose. He found his swift landing up from the edge and onto the building a justification of the extra weeks he took before getting to work. He was no help to the endangered of Gotham if he was endangered by mere heights, something which a bat could ignore easily through flight.

As he perched himself onto the building, he reached for a microchip in his belt to increase the noise level around him, hopefully leading him to locate a mugging or kidnapping someplace, however found himself not needing it.

"Ahh! Aaaaahhhhhhhhh! Help! Help! Get him away from me! Heeelp!" Batman looked below him into a dark alley where two shadowy figures were running in the night, one chasing the other. A female was victim, age 20, and probably taking courses at Gotham U, the victor being male. The crime is a simple mugging. She saw the knife before he wanted her to, panicked and ran. He chased after her. The facts that he gathered just from a plea for help and two silhouettes flashed through his head immediately. Stopping him shouldn't be a problem. Fear _was_ in play, after all. All he needed to do was reverse who was fearing and who was feared. As the Batman, the name Bruce had given to himself, his goal was to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, which was exactly what he intended to do with the first the Batman was destined to capture.

As he jumped of the building he recognized, and was not surprised by, the small, but deadly, tool held closely in the thugs arm as a gun. _A cowards' weapon; what was used to kill his parents. What he would never resort to using. _The setting of the mugging revealed the great cowardice of the mugger himself. The gun didn't make his job any harder; just a lot easier. Easier to imprint fear into, easier to identify him as coward and loser, and easier to capture…

The last time he had done something like this he had been guised in a ski- mask. It didn't turn out well. This time, however his disguise was better. More terrifying, specifically. It didn't make him look like a criminal like before, or a nemesis, but rather the criminals' nemesis. A symbol of fear for some, yet hope for others. Ready to strike, he took out his hook once more, using it to swoop down, deep into the darkness where an evil was present.

Lurking in the shadows, while falling all at once, he observed the criminal chase the girl into a dead-end, as he had already predicted it to happen. "Come on little girly. Why don't you just be a nice lil' lady and give me that purse and pritty little necklace o' yours." The thief- _no_-coward, walked towards his prey closing in on her and jabbing his gun against her neck. Already terrified, the women almost immediately passed out from fear, which the robber initially thought was from the thought of a gun pressed against her. It wasn't. "Come on now girly, dontcha be a faintin' over me. But, then again, while I'm here, it shouldn't hurt me to help myself to a coupla bobbles o' yurs 'n' such." The criminal, with sincere viciousness in his snarl, bent over into the trash heap she had landed in to remove the necklace and purse from the college-aged woman.

A mysterious shift of the wind sudden and quick, however, caused him to stop, dead-cold, in his tracks. He carefully and fearfully turned over to notice a gigantic looming shadow of a fearsome creature - a bat - confronting him in a human form. A voice began speaking which didn't seem to be quite from the shadow, but rather a message from the heavens – or perhaps some place else. "She didn't faint because of you." The raspy voice bellowed its words with an icy inhuman, chill, which echoed in the cool autumn night. "It was because of ME!"

The shadow lurched out with quick pace, revealing itself from the darkness. "Batman", used his grappling hook to disarm the villain, only to miss, and instead, taking advantage of his slip-up, pulled himself to the wall, kicking his legs out on the way, knocking his foe down. He was the prey now. The paralyzed crook barely managed his one already loaded shot, which merely nicked the black cloak the caped being wore. The figure pounced on the fiend once more, who was frozen in place, only to be disarmed by another swift kick, this time to his arm. He originally tried to reach for the gun, now a good yard away from him, but was thwarted by the shadow stepping on the gun and bending it, then tossing it away, seemingly with his bare hands. The man – if even worthy of that title – got up to throw his fist aimlessly at the shadowy character. Repeated attempts were all failures, stacking up over time to about five similarly pointless attempts at punching the bat creature. He was eventually clouded and temporarily blind by a thrown smoke grenade, unable to see, or punch, anything.

"It's over" was all that the brisk voice said. The blows were well connected and nearly unblockable, even if the thug was capable of blocking. It took only one to finish the thief off. He soon collapsed on the pavement, knocked cold, not to recover soon. The women, Batman realized, had either regained consciousness or faked it to get away and left in the smoky haze during the battle. He could see her staggering away even then. Once she cleared, the unconscious body was thrown out into the streets, with a net trapping him and making him incapable of escape.

She probably was afraid of him, but he didn't care if the public liked him or not. That wasn't his purpose. The police would probably like him less, and he wasn't ready to reveal himself…yet. So as he heard police sirens ring, probably tipped off by the lady, he took his hook out again, pulling himself onto a flagpole, presumably to continue his work

"Hey, Gordon." Over Here! I think I just found something this way." A cop called out to the newest member of the police force, Lieutenant James W. Gordon. In response, he looked over to an alley, where he saw the third mysteriously apprehended victim that night, also appearing to be a criminal. It was only his second week in Gotham as a citizen, let alone as a cop, and he was already attached to a big case. Yes, it was a city, which happened to be a major city but nonetheless, he was still adjusting and from the looks of it, his life could be changed from the way everything's been going, only after two weeks of service.

The first of the criminals could easily have any sort of excuse for being like he was; disarmed, unconscious, and destroyed, both mentally and physically. It was not improbable for him to have been on drugs, and was, in fact, highly likely, as substance abuse was common in big city thugs. He could've had an illness, causing him to be in his state, also possible, because he probably couldn't have easily obtained a cure. In both cases, an enemy takes the thug out easily, probably to gain turf or drugs, or even equipment, from their opponent. Those were only two of the possible scenarios.

However two like that, while it could be coincidence, is a little more suspicious, unless one saw the other mumbling, getting him nervous during a period of getting "high", or something to the same effect, then the same predator could attack him. However both muttered something about a giant bat, in some sort of state of paranoia. It could be some sort of hallucination caused by drug, or perhaps someone wearing a cape to look like a bat and scare their opponent (which was ridiculous), but the two weren't anywhere near each other, which also crossed out his other theory. He had doubts it was affects from some sort of drug, because they had no connection whatsoever, and it didn't seem like any drug Gordon ever heard of before.

… Now, though, he had found a third one, who looked to be in the same position as the others. Walking over to the unconscious body, thrown in a heap, his immediate reaction was to check for his heartbeat, to make sure he was still breathing. After confirming that he was alive, he turned to see he was black skinned. It wasn't uncommon, but he also had long dreadlocks, and the unmistakable moustache that could only fit one criminal, not to mention the dog tag worn by the man, most incriminating of all that what he suspected was true.

"What is it Gordon" demanded one of his officers, after Gordon stood over the body for a good minute, shocked over what he had discovered.

"Skeevers" was all he said, and all he needed to say. The name was commonly and widely known, even by cops over in places as far away as California, but especially for natives of Chicago, which Gordon himself was. The crime family was one of the few still existent gangs around before the Wayne Killings. The family was the first major group to base themselves in Gotham since then, although their old base of operations was in Chicago. The one that lay unconscious at his feet was most definitely Jeffrey Skeevers, the older of two brothers currently active in Gotham in the Skeevers crime family, but generally considered the tougher, and less intelligent of the two. He ran the largest crime family in the city. This was big. Really big.

He, who also muttered slightly about the bat, could well be a lynchpin between the other two, filling the gaps in between them. He wasn't exactly the leader of the gang, or at least that's what some, like Gordon, speculated, but he was widely considered as the head, and was the highest ranked, known member, of Gotham's underworld, including its twin cities, such as Bludhaven.

This could, of course, be the doing of Skeevers brother, Edward, seeing as how, with him gone, he could now assume command. However that would be taking a risk that it wouldn't start a gang war, something bad for both Gordon, and Eddie. On the other hand, both had a long history of taking risks as large scale as that, so it was still possible. The other two criminals could just be a smokescreen to take suspicions off of him. Or maybe Gordon was just over thinking the situation, and there really was a giant bat running around Gotham.

_Get a grip of yourself Gordon, sleep is just beginning to overcome you for you have had a lack of that, even the slightest notion of a giant human-bat is preposterous, let-alone it being in Gotham City, over anywhere else in the world. Just because this place is gruesome and evil doesn't necessarily mean that my life is becoming something out of a horror movie from the 40's. Does it? _

"Well Commissioner, this certainly is an interesting development." Minutes after Skeevers was discovered by Gordon, Jim got to calling Commissioner Loeb on his built-in phone on the police car he had just rode in.

"While it definitely is…" The commissioner began his response to the shocking news. "I refuse to believe that some half human- half bat- _freak_ is running around my city capturing gang lords. Loeb's' voice boomed through the machine as his once casual tone suddenly got worked up, and Gordon could almost feel the spit splashing on his face. "Anyway, whatever happened, it's just going to make things worse. I'm sure you're aware of the possibility of a major gang war breakout that's going to get starting around here, isn't that correct Gordon?"

Gordon really couldn't argue with that train of thought, for he was already on it, so, he instead, attempted for a slight change in subject. "I'm no detective, Loeb, but there wasn't any evidence left out at the scene, like some sloppy criminal trying to take control would probably leave, and no known hallucination drug would work like this. I just got a civilian sighting of some sort of creature, like that described by the criminals as well. It was a victim who was attacked by the first criminal at the time of his apprehension. It was the one who tipped us off, interestingly enough."

"… And what, exactly, Gordon, are you trying to imply by this rant of yours, before you continue on with your pointless theories"

"Well, maybe, just maybe, whatever happened here tonight is for the better, and before you ask, I'm not letting Skeevers go. Did that ever occur to you?"…Yep, definitely not on the right foot with the commissioner, and with my second week on the job too, Gordon thought, knowing that the worst was yet to come. Not even he could comprehend however, the great evils of the past that were soon to haunt Gotham

All the way home, and on the way to get changed for, and into, bed after the busy night, Gordon found his mind elsewhere, deep in thought over the night's events. Lying next to his wife, Barbara, he was finding himself having a hard time getting to sleep, which was strange, considering it usually took him seconds to drift away. He knew that Loeb, more or less, was in a conflict with him now, not something that would make his job any easier than it already was. Much of the police force, was, at the very least, mildly corrupted, and Gordon felt Loeb, although not deeply evil wasn't an exception, by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, he was worst off, when he was first a cop, but that was awhile ago now, and with the upcoming gang war, he had a feeling things were only about to get tougher for him. At this point in his career, he was already on his way to being a commissioner, as it was the next step for his career.

What he had said to Lloyd was really starting to become a possibility to Gordon. While it was true that he didn't really think that there was a man-bat of some sort, in Gotham; a vigilante, of the sorts, was a possibility, even though he would be more likely to dress up as a scarecrow or something like that, although it was more likely than being a crane or something, he supposed. Sure, the former sounded more like a criminal get-up or something, but so did being a gigantic bat. He really wasn't sure what to think, at this point in time. He snuggled up next to Barbara hoping to abandon his thoughts, as well as he wished that he would get everything straightened out soon, yet knowing neither would happen in the near future.

"So, Master Bruce, how was your first night (er, how should I put it), ahhh, yes, of course, on your "Midnight Patrol", may I ask." Bruce just returned from his first night as Batman, at 1:00 in the morning, probably too early he knew, although it was just his test night, and was being questioned by Alfred.

"I caught three petty thugs, one of which was Jeffrey Skeevers." Bruce wore a grim face at his lack of action, or maybe just because that's how he wanted to look as Batman.

"Yes, I can imagine your, _disappointment_, that you were not that successful, seeing as how you probably only saved **countless** lives. In other matters, however, were you able to get yourself in well?"

"Actually, no Alfred. We need something better than a plain car and a behind the room entrance-way. I noticed there was a slight chance that I could've been seen coming in, although I'm sure I ignored that tonight. I had to hide in the bush to get changed as well. How is the cave going?"

"Well, I have finished the computer and the route for the car to come through should be done by the end of next week, and your lucky it was already an opened area, with a paved way in, or else it would take months, especially considering how it's only me working on it ever since tonight, although I suppose you can be of assistance after some sleep."

"Sorry Alfred, I would help more, but between running a major corporation and now this, I have a bit of a time management issue."

Yes, I can see where this would be possible." Alfred said, with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice this chop-busting around. "Anyway, all connections between Bruce Wayne and that old car that you've been driving have been eliminated"

"Good Alfred. I really appreciate all you've been doing for me, but I have a plan for another car, it shouldn't take too long, but it'll work with my fear theme." Bruce knew he was the only other person that could work on this, besides himself, partially because he was the only one he trusted enough to keep his secret. For now, he was the only one who even knew about Batman's existence. For now he would remain nothing but a myth. An urban legend, of sorts.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. Anyway, am I to assume that you are to wear your other suit tomorrow night, after you get a good…er, days rest?"

"Wha… Oh yeah, Harvey Dents campaign speech. Harvey, yeah, you assumed correctly. Speaking of that, clean this suit would you. It's a little dirty, and I expect I will also wear it tomorrow night, Alfred, thanks again" He handed his butler the bundled costume to hand wash. Bruce was feeling groggy but even through that, he knew he believed more than enough in Harvey Dent to support his campaign to save Gotham as assistant D.A. Now, he knew that it came time to meet him, in person.

"So, you're Gotham's legendary billionaire playboy, huh? Y'know, I would probably insult you, if you didn't contribute so much to my campaign." Harvey Dent let out a bout of hearty laughter, and Bruce joined in with him, allowing the noise to come out realistically.

Yep, I just know what you mean Harv, but it's nice to finally be meeting you, y'know. "

Yep, I know just what you mean Bruce. Sorry, but I'm afraid that I really don't have all that much time to chat right now, and I'm busy for the rest of the night, but, it was nice meeting you, honestly, maybe we can chat some other time." Harvey was about to walk out of the area, drink in hand, to prepare for his speech, before Bruce suddenly stopped him, startling him only a bit.

"Oh, Harvey, one more thing"

"Yeah Bruce, what is it."

Who's that, over there?" He said pointing to a large man, with black hair which had large streaks of white in it. He was smoking a pipe, talking with Harvey Dents main rival and a well distinguished doctor, along with a Mexican looking man, big, burly, and with a dark complexion. Something seemed odd about the four.

"Oh, him, he's somewhat new to Gotham, another millionaire for the city. His name is Rupert Thorne. Between you and me, I don't like him"

"Yeah, between you and me Harvey, there's something I don't like about him as well."

Bruce was left to think about Thorne all the way through the night, knowing his suspicions were true.

While Thorne was indeed on the wrong side of the law, no one could prove it, as of then, Bruce Wayne and Harvey Dent included. However Thorne knew that the latter had the best chances of exposing him as what he was. Not that this worried Thorne all that much. After all, he was practically untouchable, with all the power under his command. However, this didn't change that he in D.A.'s office… even as an assistant… could prove to be… disruptive.

Thorne commanded a criminal empire composed of thieves, assassins, serial killers, arsonists, and robbers, among others. He could kill anyone he wanted, whenever he anted, without any suspicions coming his way. Or at least that's how it would be with Dent out of the way. However, he had his thoughts that Harvey wouldn't fall as easily as everyone else could.

Also, between Skeevers being captured, just last night, along with this strange creature that supposedly captured him, Thorne knew his arsenal would need to clean up any potential war which would ruin him. However, he expected that whatever captured Skeevers would be a problem on a much grander scale, now that there were two who opposed him. This meant that Thorne would most likely have to find away to do his own dirty work in Dent's case, without actually dirtying his hands and revealing himself. He didn't worry much, considering he had just the right plan.

Thorne turned over to the red-clad, dark-haired secretary of his, whom he had just hired, known only as Candice. "So, Candy, I trust you've been updated on my situation with Dent.

"I expect you trust correctly Mr. Thorne. I also expect you need my suggestion.

"No, not exactly." Thorne informed her. "I know what to do now though, and I need your opinion, and help on my plan. Of course someone needs to take the fall, someone who I already need out of my way, someone who knows far too much. I do believe you'll agree that a certain Doctor Karl Hellfern fits the bill.

**48 Hours Ago**

Harvey Dent was working in his tiny, cramped office, with an awful lot to do in the next 48 hours, to prepare for his speech. For some strange reason, times like these made him think back to his youth, which he didn't have many memories of. In other thoughts he was still happy about the donations that billionaire Bruce Wayne gave to his campaign, but thought he may have an ulterior motive, for the rich were not people he usually trusted, however, somehow, Bruce seemed different, and he hadn't even met the man.

He was thinking about anything at the time, just so the work didn't seem so stressful; painful. But not even thinking about Grace, the girl whom he just met was helping. However, his mind did seem to be distracted when he heard the wind move. Before he could turn over, he heard a cool, chilling voice. It said but two words. "Harvey Dent."

"Wait! What, huh, who's there?" Harvey exclaimed with surprise in his jumbled words, which barely rolled out his mouth.

"Don't Panic." The voice started up again. "I'm someone like you. I'm someone who wants to save Gotham City. In 24 hours, I will begin a nightlong journey, for that purpose. I assure you, I support you. We're Gotham's last hopes now." The figure said in his raspy voice.

"…And why should I trust you?"

"I really don't think you have any other options left." After a period of silence he said one last thing. "I'll keep in touch." He was gone before Harvey could catch him for one last question, leaving nothing but a mysterious aura lingering through the air.


End file.
